Redemption
by Smurfette Le Peux
Summary: Ponyboy is the central character in this.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Thanks to S.E. Hinton for a life changing piece of literature. Plot's mine, I guess, with a few borrowed ideas and characters from the Great Ms. Hinton. Please don't distribute without my knowledge.**

**A/N: I started and abandoned this story two years ago. I recently got inspired again, tweaked it a bit (changes in published chapters), and hope to finish it. Please read and review. All comments and criticisms are welcome.**

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I slowly drew in my breath, then pulled out a wreath of smoke. The sun was setting just above me, flaming orange against a dusty pink, growing more surreal the longer I stared. When I was younger, I used to gaze directly into the sun until my older brother Darrel (who I call Darry) stated icily that I was going to blind myself if I didn't stop.

I stopped staring at the sun, but my love for sunsets only intensified.

All the more so after mom and dad died a year ago. I tried to catch them when I could and when I did, I watched until Darry yelled at me to haul my ass inside. It didn't take a whole lot to set him off, these days.

The vacant lot was empty, just me, my pack of cigarettes, and my journal. I would come here a lot after school, sometimes running into Johnny or any other guy from the gang and we'd have an impromptu game of football. It was our hangout. Other times, it would just be me.

Darry and Soda both reckoned I was a strange one because I could sit for hours on end alone and not be bored. The muses were being friendly towards me again. Lately inspirations had been coming from so many different areas, even small things like watching a person sipping a hot cup of coffee. I carried the journal with me more now than I ever did before. It was like an itch, this urge to write.

The shining sun, dipping into the highlighted yellow, tucked into the azure sky piqued my creative juices. Cigarette clamped between my lips, my pen moved quickly across the paper. I was sitting underneath a gnarled oak, flickering shadows dancing across the pages as I wrote.

I wrote for a long time, stopping only to light a cigarette. By the time I had finished, the sky was practically dark. Time flew. I got like that when I wrote, losing sense of everything except the thoughts that travel from my mind to the paper, paralyzed except for that motion, frenzied even.

Killed the pain somewhat.

"Pony!" The shout sounded like Sodapop. I hoped Darry wasn't too mad that I was staying out late again.

"Pony!" The shout was getting louder. It was my second oldest brother, no doubt now. I quickly gathered my stuff, stubbed out the cigarette, and walked towards Soda who was facing the opposite direction. He turned, spotted me, and I saw his grin from here. That wild and reckless grin.

"Where have you been, little bro?" he asked as I neared. I chewed my lip.

"I was here the whole time. Darry mad?" Soda threw his arm around my shoulders and we walked towards the house.

"You know how he gets Ponyboy. You missed dinner again", Soda said, squeezing my shoulder then letting go. He bent to pick up a blade of grass and began blowing on it. We stepped around broken glass, as we walked on the cracked sidewalk.

Garbage littered the area, bits of waxed paper cups here, soiled newspapers there. The houses in our area were small, dilapidated, and too close together. Grimy faced kids stared as we walked by, cigarettes dangling from their small fingers. We grew up here. The Eastside. You didn't have a childhood in this place. As soon as you hit five, you needed to be tuff. The five year olds here had this haunted look in their eyes, much like the look in my eyes, the gang's eyes, Darry's eyes. Poverty aged you. Death hardened you. Here, we've seen it all.

"Where have you been!" Darry glared at me as soon as we entered. Steve Randle sat on our living room floor, watching the television and eating chocolate cake. He was Soda's best friend and a cocky sonofabitch.

"I was in the lot," I said, stepping over Two-Bit Matthews who was sprawled on the floor. He raised his head, cocked his eyebrow, and gave me a chocolate smile.

Darry stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his muscular frame taking up most of the space. Soda collapsed onto the couch, punching Steve in friendly greeting. Steve scowled and socked Soda in the head.

"What were you doing in the lot? You missed dinner again. Don't you know how tired I am from work? The least you could do is eat what I make for you. On time", he barked, still glaring at me. I ducked my head and looked at him apologetically.

"Sorry Darry, I didn't mean to." I could feel his eyes on me as I walked into the bedroom I shared with Soda.

"Didn't mean to," I heard him grumble and Soda's voice broke in.

"Come on Darry, ease up. He's home now," he said evenly. I tossed my things onto the desk and peeled off my teeshirt. It smelled like rat piss.

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I was jerked out of my dream by a sudden stream of bright sunlight.

"Soda," I growled sleepily, pulling the blanket over my head.

"Not Soda. Darry. Wake up, you're gonna be late for school", he said yanking the covers down. How did he manage to look so wide awake at, I glanced at the clock, seven o'clock in the morning?

"Out of bed Ponyboy Curtis." I obliged and nearly collided with a bouncing Sodapop.

"Mornin' Pony! Didja have a good sleep?" he asked, ruffling my hair. I glared at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Sure did, 'til I got blinded by sunlight," I muttered, half hoping Darry didn't hear me. And half hoping that he did. The look Darry gave me confirmed the latter. Fifteen minutes later, I was still half asleep but ready for school. Darry and Soda were well on their way out.

"You be home for dinner you hear? No more traipsing around in the lot alone. Curly Sheppard got jumped by a few Socs earlier this week. I'm not about to be picking up pieces of my little brother on the street," Darry said, pulling on a flannel shirt. His ice blue eyes bore into mine. He roofs houses. Darry's a physical guy, cool and smart, and has a lot of common sense. Unfortunately, with Darry and Soda inheriting that last trait, I got left behind in the shuffle.

Soda grinned at me, his DX hat perched on his golden brown hair. I've seen him disarm even the coolest Socy girl with that grin.

"See ya later, Pony," he said and they were gone. Before I left, had to make sure I had my journal. And a pack of cigarettes. On my way to school, Two-Bit pulled up in his junked heap of a car. Typical Two-Bit, he blasted the hell out of his horn just as he pulled up, scaring the shit out of me.

"Need a lift, little man?" I jumped in and he pressed the accelerator almost before I shut the door.

"You're a maniac, Matthews," I said, after my internal organs adjusted to Two-Bit's crazy driving. He cocked an eyebrow at me, looking like a tough hood with that cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Yessum. And damned proud of it," he said cockily. We passed the drugstore and it brought back memories of Two-Bit's many klepto moments there. He was every store owner's nightmare. As long as it wasn't nailed down, why shouldn't he take it? The world owed him, and he gave back to the world with his crackhead humour and long-winded, nonsensical philosophies on life.

"Nearly killed me and Kathy last night. The breaks in this car are shot," he said chuckling, oblivious to my obvious discomfort.

"Just takes some fancy steering, ya hear me Pony? It's all in the wrist. Reckon I'll have to take it in soon though. But get a good driver like me behind the wheel, and no worries," he carried on, looking at me instead of the road. I shook my head. Two-Bit Matthew's was one of a kind.

Socs crowded the parking lot when we pulled in. They stared menacingly at us as we parked. Two-Bit was as cool as a cucumber. He took in the five Socs who hung around the Green Corvair next to us and burst out laughing. One of the them, a stocky redhead, in Madras and too tight pants turned and swore.

"Whatcha laughing at, grease?" His pals gathered round. Two-Bit swung out of the car, and I came round to his side. He stared pointedly at the Soc's pants.

"Guess your mom still shops in the little kids stores for you, huh Mr. Socy?" Two-Bit snickered and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. We both walked off to a chorus of threats and curses.

"Fucking low life greaseheads, you're lucky we're at school!" he yelled. Two-Bit ignored him and looked at me.

"Ponyboy, here's a lesson. When your pants are ridin' higher than your socks, then you need new pants," he said seriously. I gave him a strange look. Reckoned that Two-Bit knew what he was talking about, even if I didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Again, no profit (financially speaking) made here. Creatively, that's a different story. Borrowed characters and concepts from canon, but plot is mine. Possible intro of new minor characters.**

**A/N: A big thank you to those who read and reviewed from two years ago. A huge apology is in order for leaving y'all hanging. So here it is. SORRY!**

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I met Johnny Cade at the vacant lot after school. He and I were pretty quiet, which is probably why we he was closer to me than anyone else in the gang, next to Sodapop. He was practicing kicks with the football when he saw me.

"Hold still Pony," he said and kicked the football the fifteen yards between us. It was a pathetic kick, with the football fumbling lopsided in the air. I caught it and grinned at him.

"Gettin' better all the time, Johnny." He gave me a dirty look, than suddenly smiled.

"Dally'll be comin' round in a bit. He said he was heading over to Tim's, you know. Guessin' he'll have some interestin' stories about Curly," Johnny said, tossing his heavily greased hair from his eyes.

I thought about that. Tim Sheppard and Dallas Winston were good friends. They were two of a kind, hardened, rough, tuff, two people you didn't want to mess with. Tim had broken a few of Dally's ribs when Dally slashed the tires of his cars. Regardless, Dally would be there when Tim needed him. And getting revenge on the Socs who clobbered Curly Sheppard was more than likely an instance when Tim needed Dally.

Johnny's gasp broke into my thoughts. He was pasty white and breathing heavily. I followed his gaze. Pulling into the lot was a blue Mustang. Greasers didn't drive Mustangs.

"What are they doing here?" Johnny asked.

"Dunno Johnny. Looking for some fun probably," I said, trying to suppress the fear that was growing inside of me. A part of me wanted to get the hell out, but the more stubborn side of me, the part of me that was proud of being a greaser, urged me to stay. I lit a cigarette and watched as the car came closer. Johnny nervously tucked his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. We waited. Six Socs exited the Mustang. No doubt they had spotted us earlier.

"Lookit here. We got some little greasies here. Hey greasies," one of them, a brunette, called. I puffed on my cigarette and tried to look cool.

"What are you doing on our turf?" I asked. Johnny kept quiet, but his eyes stayed on the nearing group.

"Hey Bob, that wimpy lookin' one on the left was giving us some troubles today." Shit, it was the redhead. Still wearing those damned pants. Wimpy, I thought indignantly. I'm a tough hood. I don't look wimpy at all. I'm small, but reasonably built. What does he know, bloody suck?

"What troubles, Dicky?" Bob said, still staring at us. I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. And they were on us. I was on the ground, with three Socs on me.

"Pony!" I heard Johnny shout. I tried to turn my head and got slugged for my efforts. I felt a sharp kick in my side and it burned like you wouldn't believe. He had his hand on my collar, lifting me up, and punching me. I wondered dazedly if he was going to kill me, then with anxiety, how Johnny was doing. I stared at the damned Soc through half closed eyes, hurting like hell. I felt a massive blow to the side of my head, rendering me stunned, and then I saw black.

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Snakes were tumbling around crazily in my head. I could feel them, tearing into my brain with their teeth, shooting venom, searing the tissue. I wanted to scream, "Get the fuck out of my head!" My lips were sealed shut, I was paralyzed to do anything except feel the white hot agony of being eaten alive. A pulsating throb began at the base of my neck and slowly worked its way up to the front, squeezing like a vise, and aggravating the pain. I could feel a bubble of rage rising through my body. Pushing, pushing, pushing... 

"ARRRGGGHHHH!" I sat up quickly, then immediately wished I didn't. Someone put a hand on my shoulder.

"Easy Pony". I was gently pushed back down and I looked through my good eye. It was Johnny and he looked as bad as I felt. He left eye was swollen shut, purplish, yellowish, bluish. Blood streamed from the ragged wound on his cheek. I was alarmed.

"Johnny, are you okay!" I tried to sit up again but a pain in my side prevented me from doing so. My head felt even worse. I wanted to throw up.

"I don't know. I woke up just before you did, got knocked out too. We have to get to your place, Pony," he said softly. I then realized we were still in the lot. Something in his eyes held me. They were dark brown, sensitive usually, cautious and suspicious. But now, there was a spark in them, something red hot like rage. Johnny'd been jumped before, but I'd never seen him look the way he did, woozy as I was. It scared me a little.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Johnny's head cocked up at the sound. He did it too quickly and he winced.

"It's Dally," he said. I breathed a sigh of relief, even if it was Dallas Winston. I didn't like him, but he was part of the gang. And I was glad he was here.

"What the motherfucking hell happened to the two of you?" Dally demanded. Johnny, through his broken mouth, told the story. Dally cursed a blue streak. Dally put a hand on Johnny's shoulder.

"Are you alright, Johnnycake?" he asked, his voice softening.

"I'm okay Dally, I'm worried about Pony though, he might have a concussion," he said, looking down at me. I tried to stay tough, but I had an unbelievably strong urge to cry. Plus, my head and side were killing me. Dally peered at me.

"He looks like hell ran over him a few times, Johnny," Dally said. I glared at him through my left eye.

"Thanks Dally." They hoisted me up and headed to Dally's car. I lay down in the back seat.

"Darry's going to kill me for missing dinner again," I said feeling a bit absurd.

A few minutes later, we were at my house and Darry, Steve, Soda, and Two-Bit stared at us, slack jawed, as Johnny and Dally carried me in. I smiled at Soda, who was staring at me in horror.

Swift action followed.

"Bloody hell," muttered Darry, who sat down on the coffee table and dabbed iodine all over my face. I still hadn't seen how I looked. Wasn't sure if I wanted to. Darry, careful control in his eyes, despite the throbbing in his jawline ticked off my injuries. Steve, who along with Two- Bit were fixing up Johnny, glanced over. We didn't like each other, but he had the decency to look concerned.

"Swollen eye which will turn into a black eye, loosened tooth, sliced cheek and lip, bruised torso," he said, wielding a reddening cotton cloth. Soda sat down next to Darry, and looked me over. He gave me such a look of sympathetic concern that my tears became a threat again.

"What happened to you and Johnny, Ponyboy," Soda asked in a low voice. He drew in a ragged breath when he saw my side.

"Socs," Johnny gasped out from the alcohol soaked cotton beneath Steven's fingers. Soda twisted around.

"Six of 'em," Johnny said.

"Six cotton-pickin', trespassin', horse shittin' Socs," Dally said softly, from the doorway of the kitchen. He leaned against it, casually smoking a cigarette, pale blue eyes inscrutable. I watched him from my position on the couch.

Dally would've and could've held them off on his own. Dallas Winston was an enigma. Pale blond hair tumbling over his forehead, curling over the collar of his shirt, piercing blue eyes hardened from a delinquent lifestyle, mouth permanently curled in contempt for the world, I wondered how he could even live and be functional. Police were constantly harassing him, his rap sheet was miles long, his father kicked him out years ago, no permanent address. He was in the gang, but he stood out. He was more dangerous, more hardened than the rest of us. The insolence in his walk wasn't the only thing that separated him from us. It was the way he spoke, the way he saw the world, the way the world treated him.

I wished sometimes I could get to know him better, but he scared me. I'm not sure if I would be able to handle seeing things from his perspective. But maybe that was why the Soc's kept away from him.

Johnny continued the story, the only interruptions being Dally's occasional swearing, Steve's snarls, and my yelps from having my wounds cleaned. I looked at Soda helplessly after Johnny finished. He reached over and stroked my hair with a closed expression on his face. Darry came back from the kitchen with a cloth full of ice.

The fear I had felt, the anger, the injustice of being jumped just for being a greaser hit me with unexpected intensity. I dipped my head, shaking, and tears coursed down my cheeks. The more I tried to stop the tears from coming, the stronger they came. Soda kneeled next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders.

"It's okay Pony." Nobody else said a word while I cried.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Must this be reiterated:) Use of S.E. Hinton's characters and bits and pieces from canon. No profit is being made off of this story.**

**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers for taking the time to read and respond to this fic. My appreciation for you guys knows no bounds. This is my first fic so constructive criticisms/comments are always welcome.  
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I stayed home from school the next day, but Darry confined me to bed. He stared pointedly at the books on my desk. 

"This doesn't mean you're going to slack off today, Ponyboy. Your body took a beating but your brain didn't so I expect you to get your reading done. Capisce?" I nodded, relieved I wouldn't have to face anybody.

It was bad enough most of my classes are filled with Socs and they look at me like I'm a piece of gum stuck beneath their shoes; it would be only ten times worse today.

Soda breezed in past Darry and plopped down next to me. He stared at me for a minute, dark brown eyes serious, then soon broke into a smile and rumpled my hair.

"Take it easy, 'k Pony? Johnny'll be swinging by later to keep you company," he said adjusting his cap.

I looked over at Darry. His eyes seemed sharper than usual, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I reckon nobody could. Not even Dad and they had been best friends. He seemed to notice me staring at him because he stood straighter and wagged a finger at me.

"Johnny's gonna tell Soda and me if you budged from that bed, Pony. So no smart ideas," he said and headed out. Soda snickered and got up.

I watched him grab his things from the corner of the room. If Darry was the cool and practical Curtis, and I was the smart but scatterbrained Curtis, then Sodapop was the handsome and charismatic Curtis. Not even Socs were immune to him. It was amusing for us, but I was secretly proud. I think Darry was too.

"Let's get a move on Soda!" he hollered, probably from the front door, because it opened and slammed shut soon after. A second later, it opened again.

"No cigarettes Ponyboy!" And with that, the house vibrated as the door cracked back into its frame. I settled back onto the bed. It had been determined that I didn't have a concussion, which prompted a remark from Two-Bit about the thickness of my head, which was followed by a five pairs of glaring eyes that shut him up.

The doctor (Darry ended up taking me to the hospital anyway) said that I would have one heck of a headache, but compared to what could have happened, it was minor. Johnny too. Of course, we didn't tell him what really happened to us. To be honest, I was surprised that it wasn't worse.

More than anything, even with the beating Johnny and I took, and believe me, this made me feel even stupider, I was more worked up by the fact that I bawled in front of the whole gang. I knew deep down that I was probably overreacting, but try keeping up the facade of being a tough hood while whinging into a tissue. I'd rather have bawled in front of the Socs than the gang.

"Hey Soda?" I asked. He was just outside the door, but poked his head back into the room.

"Yeah?"

I wanted to know if he thought I was a wimp for breaking down the way I did. I opened my mouth to ask, then thought better of it.

"Can you bring me a bottle of Pepsi after work?" I asked instead.

"Sure thing, princess," he said, then ducked laughing as I threw a rolled up sock at him.

I listened to the pick-up squeal out of our driveway and then I was alone. For the next couple of hours, I tried to finish The Light That Failed for my honours English class, but felt so restless that I could only read a few paragraphs at a time.

Don't get me wrong, I love English and Kipling even more, but I think the nervous energy from yesterday carried over to today. I found myself waiting to hear the front door bang open and Johnny calling my name. If you want to know how to torture a hood, crack some ribs (or an equivalent) and lock him up. Solitude ain't the same when your brain is fuzzy and the only scenery is the peeling paint on your wall. I don't know how Curly survived those times in the reformatory.

Kipling wasn't going to be finished today, so I switched over to History, then Math, then finally gave up. Nature called and with my aching body, took twice as long to get to the bathroom which was right next to mine and Soda's bedroom.

Turning on the light was a bad idea.

Now there's a difference between looking tuff, and looking like dead dogshit that would scare even Tim Shepard's crew. Needless to say, I looked five times worse than I had felt, which in turn made me feel a thousand times worse than I did before. The bruise on my side was the worst. It looked like it had something growing beneath it.

Fortunately Johnny, as always, had good timing.

"Hey Pony," I heard him call from the living room. I eased into the hallway and smiled, taking him aback. He looked bad too, but tuff bad, not dogshit bad.

"Christ Pony, Darry'll kill me if he knew you were out here. You need to get back into bed," he said, eyes wide.

I felt foolish as he helped me back, even fluffing my pillow for me. He disappeared, then returned with ice and two glasses of chocolate milk. I caught the pack, and grimaced as I put it on my eye. Johnny could've used one too, I reckoned.

"You should go into nursing. Maybe you'll filch a catheter so I'll never have to leave here again," I said closing my eyes as pain shot through my head.

When I opened them, Johnny had pulled up my desk chair and sat facing me, his back against the window. He looked weary and exhausted, but more or less like himself. That spark I saw in his eyes last night was gone; what replaced it was a kind of resignedness. He played with the front cover of my history book, but I knew he was thinking.

We sat in silence for a while, the memories of the previous night etched permanently in our brains.

"It ain't right, Pony. What happened last night, what happened to Curly, everything that goes on, it ain't right," he said softly, eyes still on the book.

I stayed quiet, knowing he had more to say. He didn't say much, usually, but when he did, anybody with half a brain would stop and listen. It still pissed me off to no end that the teachers at school treated him like he was backward, when the truth of the matter was, he understood things a lot of people wouldn't. Even those damned Socs in my classes.

"They could've killed us and for what? For kicks? Because they have everything in the world going for them, everything is so fuckin' easy for them, they jump us 'cause they got nothing else to do," he said, bitterness creeping into his voice.

I put down the ice pack, keeping my eyes on him even though he didn't look up. Hearing those words coming out of his mouth, so many of them punctuated with painful intensity, surprised me still. Johnny didn't cry yesterday, but he watched me when I did, black eyes sad and angry. It occurred to me I never saw him cry. Ever. Those black eyes were wet when they met mine now.

"Johnny, how come you didn't stay over?" I asked. His gaze fell on the plain black cover of my journal, next to my bed. One denim clad shoulder rose in a shrug.

"I went home...," he began before trailing off. There were sirens in the background, a regular noise on the Eastside, and shouts filled with expletives. I couldn't help but look out the window as a police car whizzed by, and a crowd of kids who looked no older than 10, smoked and watched the chase with bland looks on their faces.

"I went home, and my mother saw me. You know how she is, Pony," he said, glancing up swiftly,"she just went on about how much of a fuck up I am. I couldn't take it, the Socs, my mother, dad waving his fists at me."

We all knew what kind of house Johnny lived in. It was why everybody was so fiercely protective of him, why he spent most of his time at our house or hanging with the gang. Mrs. Cade was a toxic woman, if there ever was one. His dad wasn't any better.

Johnny wanted,_ needed_ their affection, much to Two-Bit and Dally's scorn. Yesterday, yesterday he thought nearly getting killed by those fucking Socs would bring out some parental concern over him. I didn't need to tell him that sixteen years of them being despicable assholes wasn't going to change in one night. It was never going to happen and it broke my damn heart because Johnny deserved love more than anybody I'd known.

I slowly sat up, and reached out my hand to him.

"You ain't alone, Johnny. You have the whole gang," I said, squeezing his hand. Under no other circumstances would I be this affectionate with anybody else, except maybe for Soda, but Johnny Cade was my best friend

His sad eyes fell on me.

"It just ain't fair," he said. I couldn't agree more.

* * *

That talk with Johnny stayed with me, even when our superficial wounds and bruises healed. 

I had a small scar on my cheek, and an even larger one on my side, but those weren't going to kill me. What was killing me was the fear that I felt. I found myself looking over my shoulder whenever I was alone (a rarity these days as I would get somebody to walk with me to and from school or wherever), my body spiked with nervousness. I felt the way Johnny's eyes usually looked. Cautious, constantly scouting for danger, frightened.

Darry was vigilant about not letting me go to the vacant lot alone, or anywhere else for that matter, and I was beginning to feel like things were closing in on me.

Being a greaser is constricting enough. Everybody knew it, with the law heavy handed on our side and lenient on the Socs, living slightly above the poverty line if you're lucky, but below more often than not, resentment, fear, insecurity, boredom, apathy all manifesting in a violence that permeated the very air we breathed.

In other words, being a greaser, despite our pride and bravado, really sucked a good deal of time. If there was any doubt, just look at how the rest of the world treated us.

Darry, one of the most popular guys in his school, handsome, athletic, smart, couldn't even break the stigma attached to our social class. Sodapop, regardless of his movie-star looks and innate charm, had the added baggage that came with being a high-school drop out.

I thought about all of our families.

Yeah all families are dysfunctional. But the money and opportunities the Socs had made things that much easier.

Two-Bit, Johnny, Steve came from broken or hostile homes. Dally deserved a lot of his trouble and sometimes didn't. They weren't evil people, scum to be spat upon or dismissed because of their long, greased hair and second hand clothing, lack of funds.

A lot of greasers I knew were good guys. And the JDs, hoods, troublemakers, I wouldn't try to justify their actions, if I didn't know that some of it transpired because of the limits set up and built against them.

I read somewhere we were all products of our environment. But fuck if society would cut us some slack. I was fourteen, but I was beginning to have a good idea of how things were, and how they were going to be. It depressed the hell out of me.


	4. Chapter 4

I started carrying a blade. I was actually pissed off enough to use it on someone, but not enough to kill them.

I was a little crazy but not Dally crazy.

To wound them a little, you know? In my own, grandiose mind, maybe I'd get a reputation for being someone nobody wanted to mess with, if you get my drift.

Look at Tim Sheppard and his reputation. Nobody wanted to fuck with him and those who did pretty much paid the price. Even the Soc's knew about him. Soda and Darry didn't know about the blade. The only person who knew was Two-Bit. How else did you think I acquired it? It wasn't like the fancy, black handled one that Two-Bit carried around. It was smaller, more practical, with a heavy silver handle. I felt the weight of it everytime I moved. I remember asking Two-Bit for it and what followed was a convoluted lecture on the drawbacks of being Tuff.

"You're a tuff kid, Pony, you know that? We all know it. You're young but we all know that you can wipe the floor with any Socy you want. We know you keep your mouth shut good," he said, as he ran a hand through his hair. I waited for it. He kept on going though.

"You don't even need to rely on your brothers to be cool, huh Pony. You're Tuff shit without them. Don't tell them that," he said, turning to look at me. We were in his car talking about this on the way back from school and I was just sitting quietly listening to him. Though he was a Junior at 18, he had acquired enough smarts to warrant being listened to. Nobody in the gang was a dummy.

"I remember when I was your age, I was always trying to prove myself, you know? I always had a shit look on my face, and always wore stuff too big for me, and learned to cuss from the best," he said. Two-Bit _could_ cuss. He was one of the best. Two-Bit went on a bit more, this time going into things like politics and society and the government, throwing in fuck, shit, jack ass every few sentences or so.

"Be careful. I'm getting it for you for your own peace of mind, kid. I don't want to see you splattered on the ground, especially because you're someone who does know how to handle himself. Don't get paranoid and don't be stupid," he finished quietly as he pulled up to my house.

I usually didn't like being lectured and condescended to, but he had a point. Carrying a blade was a big fucking deal. It would be a good excuse to cut me open to my liver if it was found on me. At this point, I didn't care though. I was scared. But I was mad. And that anger was taking overtaking that other emotion.

I was at home, smoking a cigarette when a few things hit me.

I didn't want to be a loser in society.

I wanted to graduate high school, go to college, have a nice girlfriend, and not be viewed as a menace to society. I wanted to be viewed menacing enough though, that nobody would screw around with a Curtis ever again. I wanted to get into a fight to do exactly what Two-Bit asked me not to do, which was prove myself. The gang made it clear I didn't lose face with them for bawling, but I hated that I felt so powerless. I knew who to go to do gain some credibility.

* * *

"I'm alright Two-Bit, you told me not to be paranoid right? So I'll be home in a while," I said after school when Two-Bit swung by my locker to drive my home. He shrugged and went away, though I didn't miss the crease on his forehead.

I flipped up my collar, touched my pocket where my blade was, and made my way north, where Tim Sheppard lived. I tried to be cool. It was the first time I had walked anywhere on my own in a while and I would be lying if I said I didn't look behind me or didn't jump a little when I saw a Corvair. I cursed myself and continued on. What were the odds of getting jumped on again in three weeks?

The Shepherd's place wasn't hard to find. I'd been there before with Soda and Steve and remember how shitty everything looked there, even compared to our dwellings. He lived in a semi-industrial part of town with Curly. Their sister Angela lived with their folks. I found the place with no trouble and knocked on their door. A few minutes later, Curly Sheppardd opened the door holding a bottle of beer, a joint hanging from his lips.

"Goddamn, if it isn't Ponyboy Curtis! How the hell are ya, man!?" he exclaimed, lips still clamped around the joint.

"Nice to see you Curly," I said. He stepped back and gestured inside. I went in, feeling a little trepidation. I got on great with Curly but I was a bit intimidated by Tim. Turned out he wasn't even home from work yet. He worked in a factory. No wonder his outlook on life was so fucked up. Curly offered me a weed and I took it gratefully. He also had Pepsi.

"Heard about what happened to you, Ponyboy. Shame. Wish I could have been there to stomp on their Socy balls," he said, sitting on the arm of the ratty couch. He patted the cushion and I sat down.

"It's alright. Johnny and I didn't do too badly," I said, not wanting to seem like a sissy. Curly just shrugged. We watched TV until Tim came home. He looked like he was in a bad mood but he was polite enough to me. He quietly dropped his stuff, went to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and sat down in the armchair. He was a smart guy. He knew I wanted something. I kind of didn't know myself what I wanted. He sat and waited for me to talk.

"I got a blade and don't know how to use it," I finally blurted out. Might as well be honest. He cocked an eyebrow at me and took a long sip. Curly stepped around me and sat down next to me. He put an arm around the part of the couch where my head was. Tim drank his beer and didn't say anything for a while. I began to feel stupid. I would find out this was just Tim's way.

"Do your brothers know about this?" he inquired. I shook my head. Tim chuckled.

"I ain't sayin' anything to them about this," he said with a smile on his face. I gave him a sour look.

"I ain't asking you to. I just need a bit of…um…", I faltered.

"Training?" Curly put in, puffing away. That was a fair word.

"Well, yeah," I said. This was putting a damper on my self esteem. I was only this honest with Soda. And Johnny. This wasn't going the way I wanted it to.

"How do you think I can do that for you, Ponyboy?" Tim asked. I had no idea.

"He should hang out with us, Tim. Introduce him to the boys," Curly suggested. Tim seemed weary. I know for a fact he didn't want to interfere with the goings on of the Curtis brothers. Soda and Darry had the reputations that I wanted.

"If you're worried about Darry and Soda, don't. They don't run my life, you know", I said feeling defensive. Tim just sighed. He seemed to be considering this. Finally he stood up and sat down on the coffee table in front of me.

"You watch and learn. If you get hurt, that's your responsibility. We ain't gonna babysit you. Ask Curly"—at that Curly scowled—" but we're having a meeting tomorrow and you can see for yourself if this is what you want." I nodded. It was. He stood and walked out of the room. Curly and I sat and stared at each other. He looked happy. I bet I looked as miserable as I felt.

* * *

Soda and Darry, along with Steve and Johnny, were at the house when I came in. Darry was instantly on my case.

"Where were you?" he demanded. Soda put a hand on his shoulder and looked at me.

"Two-Bit swung by and said you were going on your lonesome somewhere," he said. I just shrugged and mumbled something about going to the bookstore. That seemed to satisfy everyone's curiosity.

I had a big day tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

I looked around.

This was Sheppard's crew. I only knew he allowed me here because I was a Curtis.

Even then, he was reluctant.

The gang and I were sort of thrown together due to circumstances, but this was an organized crew. Tim was at the helm and a guy name Mark was the second in command. They fought with knives, heaters, pool sticks, chains, anything they could get their hands on. They fought hard and dirty and any fear they had in them left a long time ago. I was the youngest one there. Curly was a year older, at 15.

A few guys looked familiar but nobody stood out. And they all wanted to know who the hell I was and what I was doing there. Especially Mark. He was point blank about it. And how he felt about.

"Tim, he has no reason to be here," he said, glaring at me. Tim just looked at him.

"He has his reasons," Tim said simply. Mark knew enough about Tim to respect his decisions so he let it go, grudgingly. Tim was their leader and what he said eventually went, but I could see this wasn't a dictatorship. Everybody had free input, all that was carefully considered by Mark and Tim, but those had the final say. And they had a certain group of misfits that they needed to get back at, for working over one of the guys.

With a heater.

No shooting, but being pistol whipped isn't a good feeling. I wouldn't know but I'd gotten punched there so I could only imagine what a heater would feel like.

This was the first 'meeting' I had every experienced and it felt like I was observing the Mafia. They had rules and a hierarchy and everything and I almost felt honored being allowed to witness all of this. They were arranging something in two weeks (not the following week because the real world still existed and Tim had to work) and it sounded like it was going to be a battle that I'd never seen before.

Like TV even.

Someone eventually put on radio and it was The Door's Gloria. That was a tuff song. I was having the strangest feeling of being sized up and I looked to my right. They were taking a break and a short, blond guy was staring hard at me.

"Curtis, huh? I heard one of you folks got jumped a while back," he said. I kind of grunted a yes. He nodded seriously.

"Soc's?"

"Yeah."

"Sucks."

"Yeah."

"Was it you?" At this, I turned to look at him. The remnants of my beating were still on my face and he saw it and nodded again.

"Whatcha doin' about it?" he asked. I just glanced over at Tim and saw he and Mark were looking at me. I turned to the blond and shrugged. It wasn't any of his business.

"We don't just let anybody in, you know?" he said. I sensed that already, as soon as I entered the meeting. Each person seemed to be specialized in some thing, whether it was heaters, or even things like social skills—street style. They had never lost a fight and weren't planning on starting.

"I ain't asking to be in," I muttered. At this point, Tim walked over to me.

"Kevin, Mark wants to ask you something," Tim said. Kevin gave me one last look before walking off.

Tim sat down next to me, and lit up a cigarette. He offered one to me and I took one. He lit it up and we sat in silence for a few minutes. I was soaking everything in and I could tell Tim was sizing me up to.

"We're going to have it out in two weeks with the Jameson gang. It's going to be tough and hard. You've probably seen nothing like how it's going to be. I'll let you watch but it's our fight. I'm not letting you get hurt and having your brothers come after me about it. That's the extent of the 'help', if you will, that I'm going to give you. Deal or not?" he said flatly.

"Deal."

* * *

Sodapop stopped me one day, as I was cleaning the house. A sudden frenzy had taken over me and I was viciously washing every visible surface in the house and Soda watched me, curiously.

"You've been at the bookstore a lot, Pony," he pointed out, leaning against the counter and drinking a chocolate milk. I shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah, I have an assignment coming up and needed to get a few things from there," I lied. I reached under the sink and came up with cleaning spray. Soda was no idiot. Who went to the bookstore non stop for the past seven days?

"Are you okay walking on your lonesome now? Do you feel jumpy at all?" he asked, still swigging.

"Not really. I heal more quickly than you think," I said. I felt bad for saying it but it was the truth. I didn't want Soda on my case anymore than I wanted Darry on it.

"I know you're tuff, Pony. I'm just wonderin' why you're spending so much time away from the gang. Johnny misses you. He's here every day wonderin' what you're up to," Soda said, settling down the carton.

I scrubbed away at the sink. I missed Johnny too. It was true. I was neglecting the gang a little but they would all kill me if they knew what I was getting myself into. Especially Johnny and my brothers.

"I've just been busy. If you went to school, you would know that," I grumbled and I knew I went too far. I didn't look at him. I just shut up and continued cleaning. Soda just put the carton back in the fridge and left the room.

I kicked myself internally. If there was somebody who didn't deserve that, it was Soda. He was always on my side and if I was honest with him about this whole thing, we'd figure out a way through it together. But I felt I couldn't tell him this. It was just too…personal. I didn't want him to know his little brother was a freak, a reputation climber, somebody who wanted to know about weapons to hurt people with.

I didn't think I was making a mistake per se, but I was really grappling with fate because I knew I could easily get killed in the rumble that I would be 'witnessing'. My intuition was telling me I needed to be there.

I needed to see the world that the Sheppards lived in. It wasn't different at all from the one that existed between the Greasers and the Soc's.

Later that evening, Soda treated me like nothing ever happened that day. We all had dinner like usual and the gang dropped by. Steve was telling a story about how a Socy girl had tried to pick up Soda and Soda stoned her. With charm, I guess. It wasn't quite fair how good looking Soda ended up being, and how smart he was too. He wasn't an idiot and I regretted implying he was earlier. Darry, with his muscular chest and ice blue eyes, didn't have Soda's radiance but he wasn't lacking in the attributes department either. He was too cool and intelligent.

Johnny was quiet. I went over to him and asked him about his week.

"Everything's cool, Pony," he said softly. That's all he said all evening.

I felt like crap.

Two-Bit was his wisecracking self, and only glanced over occasionally. Dally didn't come at all. Ironically, he was over at Shepherd's.

* * *

I saw the Soc's who jumped us at school regularly. They knew who I was and who Johnny was but they acted like we didn't exist. We were just another fun thing to fuck with to them. We were so below them that they couldn't be bothered acknowledging the fact that they nearly killed us.

I wished I could kill them though.

The resentment and anger was there in spades and I was putting my life in jeopardy so I could get back at them. I wouldn't have considered myself vindictive by any means before, but now…I realized how much I had changed from that incident in the vacant lot. I _was_ paranoid, I was meaner and crueler than I realized, I had a thirst for violence I never knew existed, and I had a penchant for getting myself into potentially bad situations.

Fortunately, nobody else was in this but me. I knew I was setting up Tim for a showdown with my brothers and it was stupidity on my part, but it was also selfishness. I didn't know anybody else.

There was Buck Merrill on the outer strip of town, but even then I wasn't crazy enough to venture down that route.

I was beginning to hate myself though.

There was just enough hate there to begin treating everybody I loved like shit. The way I treated Soda. The way I ignored Johnny. The way I went against everything Two-Bit was trying to teach me. Even the way I showed up late for Darry's dinners, even though I knew my family was always worrying about me.

I was a selfish little bastard with a thirst for revenge beyond anything I've ever experienced before.

Things were about to get ugly quick.


	6. Chapter 6

I needed to make an excuse for Darry because there was no way in hell he would allow me to just walk into a rumble that essentially I had nothing to do with except for research.

I had been spending more and more time with the Sheppards and their crew and I had a feeling they were getting used to having me around. I was using the library in place of the bookstore for an excuse now and everybody but Soda believed me.

Soda had never been a worrywart, but now he was starting to sound like one. Always inquisitive and always looking at me with a line of worry between his eyes. He was starting to outworry Darry who enjoyed the fact that I spent so much time at the library. What reason, really, did I have for lying about going there? My grades were okay, I wasn't getting into any trouble, and I was trying to be myself the entire time I was at home.

Finally, Sodapop cornered me one day.

"Look Ponyboy, I know you're not going to the library every day. I'm not goin' to let you know how but I know. I just want you to know you can come to me anytime about anything. You know that," he said. I stared at the ground, guilt eating me alive. If I could just tell him right now. If I only I could just let him know everything that was happening. Everything that was going on.

"Trust me Soda, everything is just fine," I insisted.

I finally found the perfect excuse. I was sleeping over at a buddy of mine, Tommy Bradley, because we had a joint assignment that was due. Darry ate it up, proud of how studious I had become recently. I wasn't stupid enough to let my grades drop. That would just let Darry know how fucked up I've become.

The day of the rumble was like any other Saturday. Darry yelling at me to wake up, Soda getting ready for work, the gang stopping over. I looked over at Soda as he slipped a teeshirt over his head. His light brown hair was already half way down his back.

"You ought to cut your hair a little, Soda," I suggested, lying with my arms crossed behind my head. He looked at me.

"Nope. Do you know how long it took me to get my hair to look like this. I ain't touching it," he said. He flipped on the radio and it was the Beatles. I hummed along, lying in bed, until Darry came by a second time.

"Out of bed, Ponyboy Curtis," he ordered. I sat up and yawned.

"Are you sure it's okay with Tommy's parents that you spend the night?" he asked a third time. I glared at him.

"What do you think I am, Darry?" Darry clucked at me and left the room. The whole gang, Dally included, was there. From the way Dally was looking at me, I had a feeling that he knew exactly what I was up to. He confirmed it later in the afternoon, after everybody had gone to work and he pulled my aside.

"I've heard you've been spending some time with Tim Sheppard and the crew, Pony," he said casually, looking like a lynx with his white blond hair, pointy ears, and pale blue eyes. I didn't say anything. It didn't surprise me he knew. Tim was one of his closest friend's. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew what was going down tonight either. He just wouldn't know that I'd be there to see it all.

"They're a pretty rough group of guys, ain't they Pony?" he said, looking at me keenly, cigarette in his mouth. I stayed silent. Good thing Dally had the discretion to talk to me alone about this.

"Just know what you're doing when you're around them, is all I have to say, Pony. I ain't Soda and I sure as hell ain't Darry, but you watch yourself, huh Pony?" he said and disappeared inside the house.

I was shocked.

Dally Winston worried about me? I never liked him much and thought he was dangerous, but I thought he was okay at that moment. Because he was worried about me, I thought he was a cool ol' guy right then. I knew he wouldn't say anything to anybody. Dally never stuck his nose in anybody's business because he knew the score. I was quietly thankful that Dally was the way he was because otherwise, I'd never see the outside of my house again.

* * *

I needed to look tuff so I put extra oil in my hair and flipped up the collar of my jacket. I wore tennis shoes, in case I had to run out of there when the fuzz showed, and my regular holey jeans. Tim gave me strict instructions to be at his house at 10:30. I carried my blade with me and headed over to his side of town, going nowhere near Tommy Bradley's house. Tim and Curly were greasing their hair and they had a shit load of weapons on their couch. A bunch of pool sticks, chains, knives, nunchuks, everything. No heaters though. Until Tim came out carrying two of them. It was the least I could do to not let my mouth fall open and look like a pussy.

This was the real, fucking deal and I had better not mess around with it.

"You're going to stay off to the side and not interfere with anything tonight, Curtis. You're here on your own accord to learn whatever it is you need to so you stay out of the way and keep your mouth shut good. When the fuzz show, run. If they come at you, run. I don't want your blood on my hands," he instructed firmly. He dropped the heaters on the couch. Curly came out and gave me a bear hug, swinging me around.

"This ain't like the type of rumbles you've seen. People get hurt serious here, man," Curly said sitting in the armchair.

"Yeah, I know," I said.

"We don't usually use them you know. It's only a just-in-case thing," he said, gesturing to the heaters. I sighed inwardly with relief.

"Good chance Dally will show up to help us out. Just warning you kiddo. If he reports back, there's nothing I can do about it," Tim said. I swore. The last thing I needed was to see Dallas Winston tonight, forgetting about the concern he showed for me this morning.

The other folks started to show in all, there were fifteen of them. Tim's gang had over thirty members so maybe the others were going to show up at the park where this was all going to go down. When all was ready, and everybody had a weapon of some sort, we made our way to the park.

It was a big park with areas shaded and wooded off and it took a while to make it to the center. The other gang was already there, outfitted in chains and sticks and canes.

I went off to the side as they lined up against each other. It was dark enough that they didn't see me go hiding. I went to a large tree and sat down next to it, glad that I was wearing all black. My palms were all clammy and I shivered even though it wasn't cold.

I was here all alone without my brothers to look out for me and in my journey to be tough, could potentially get killed here. I hope to God that Dally didn't show up.

They started. I watched as they walked toward each other, even in numbers and in numbers of weapons, and stand silently, observing one another.

One of Tim's crew swore loudly and punched one of the guys in the stomach and it was on.

They began punching and kicking the hell out of each other, their weapons laid to the side. Tim grabbed a guy's head under his arm and kneed him in the stomach. Curly knocked someone down and kicked him in the ribs with all of his strength. They were all punching and blocking and kicking and one of the opposing crew's members went to the pile of weapons for a piece of pipe. He cracked it over the skull of Tim's guys and he went down.

One by one, they went for the weapons and there was the sound of swearing and metal hitting metal and hard sticks hitting soft objects. I clutched the ground with my fingers and gulped as I watched them, bloodied, kicking the shit out of each other.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Dally Winston showed up and he was in the fight too. He grabbed a pool stick and broke it over someone's back. Someone screamed and I saw a blade sticking out of a guy's leg. My mouth was open and I was sweating with fear, wanting to cry.

This was fucking insane.

Dally was getting the crap pounded out of him by two guys and suddenly I felt this surge of anger. Dally was my buddy and sure enough, I was about to do something stupid.

I'm not Catholic but I crossed myself and ran over to help him out. I reached for a pool stick and jabbed one of the guys in the side with it. He doubled over, clutching his ribs. Dally turned to look at me and swore so loudly it took the other guy aback.

"Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here!" he roared before slamming his fist into the guy's head. I whacked the attacker with the pool stick and didn't say anything. I felt somebody punch me in the head and whirled around. I began to let my fists fly, dropping the pool stick, and soon I was hitting whoever was near me. I was red with anger and adrenaline and I picked up the stick again and began to hit whoever was hitting Dally. The stick broke and I wielded the two sides and started hitting again.

Tim came up to me, wrapped his arms around me and after walking maybe ten steps, slammed me on the ground.

"You fucking idiot. What did I tell—", and he was off fighting again.

I lay on the ground and watched everything unfold. Tim's crew was winning. A couple of the other guys ran off once the weapons were whipped out and there were a few who were on the ground. Tim, Curly, and Dally were still at it. And they beat the shit out of the other crew until they all up and ran.

Tim, breathing hard, came over to me and with as much force as he could, slapped me across the face. I spat at him and he clenched his fist, ready to beat me until Dally came over and held him back.

"Don't, he's just a kid," Dally said, quietly. I got up, looked around at all the bodies on the ground, and ran. I stopped at a tree, and vomited loudly. I sat against it and couldn't get the snakes out of my stomach. What I had just witnessed was the most brutal piece of reality I had ever seen. There was only so much I could take.


	7. Chapter 7

I had the night to myself. It had been education, all right.

An education on how to get killed.

I would never forget tonight for as long as I lived.

Tim had every right to be pissed off at me.

Anything could have happened.

He saved me tonight and I owed him. I owed him a lot actually, for everything that he had done for me.

I left them all in the park, even Dally, and made my way homewards. I wasn't going home, most likely to the vacant lot where I could sit and think.

I didn't get hurt too badly. I'd probably have a bruise from where Sheppard hit me and everywhere else I was punched but I was otherwise fine. Externally. Inside, I think it would be safe to say I was traumatized.

It had been the first time I'd ever seen anyone get knifed, or had a stick broken over their back, for that matter, and I was capable of the latter. I actually was in a fight where people used objects rather than their fists and I could have been killed.

I knew Dally would give me a working over for this but he wouldn't say anything to Darry or Soda. I got a lot of my anger out tonight, but another point of anger was beginning to emerge.

I behaved like a hood tonight. As of late, in fact. Going to gang meetings, learning about weapons, fighting with them, lying to everybody I loved…what the hell had become of me. All this anger from getting jumped and from being poor and everything else.

I was fourteen years old and I shouldn't have to experience any of this. I grew five years older tonight watching what I watched and doing what I did, and I grew up not in a way that was good. I imagined Darry and Soda fighting in something like this and suddenly burst into tears. I walked all the way to the lot crying my eyes out. It was okay though, I was alone. I sat down against the oak tree, stared up at the crescent moon and bawled until I fell asleep.

When I woke, I could care less what I looked like. But I had to sneak into the house. I couldn't let my brothers see me like this.

Thank God we never kept the door locked.

It was sunrise, so I guessed it was about six or seven in the morning. I slowly made my way in and snuck into the bathroom. There was a lump on the back of my head and a bruise across my cheek, but I didn't look too bad. I was filthy though. I sighed and hopped in the shower. Sunday morning. Neither Darry nor Soda were working today. I had a long day ahead of me.

Darry instantly saw what my condition was, made the obvious conclusion, and threatened to go over to Tommy Bradley's house and talk to his parents. I closed my eyes and listened to him rant. Soda stayed quiet, dabbing my face and lump with iodine.

"Darry, it wasn't Tommy Bradley," I finally said. Darry stopped and looked at me.

"I fell down the stairs, okay?" Darry cocked his eyebrow.

"You did what?" he asked flatly. Soda also looked at me.

"I tripped okay. I tripped and went flying down the stairs. Hard wood. But I'm okay. Just a little banged up," I said it so honestly I would have believed myself. I didn't tell them I felt nauseous. At the moment, Johnny walked in, took a look a me, and nearly had a fit until I told him I fell down the stairs.

"Are you sure you're alright, Pony?" he asked. He sat down on the couch and stared worriedly at me. I nodded at him, waiting for Soda to finish. I was lucky to have the gang and my brothers. Really I was. I was too depressed to tell them that though. Johnny came into my room as I was working on my math homework.

"Hey man, it's been a while since we've actually talked," he said quietly sitting on the bed. I turned to face him.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that Johnnycake. I've been busy with school," I said.

"Do you see those guys around school?" he asked. I knew who he was referring to and nodded.

"Yeah, when I do, I don't know what to think anymore. I don't even know if it's them who's the problem, you know Pony? Maybe it's us," he said. I kind of knew what he was getting at.

"Believe me, Johnny, it's them," I said. Society had created a monster with the Soc's and that monster wasn't going away fast. It was the system that was fighting another system. One group against another group. Nothing was individual. Nothing was personal. It was group hatred. Collective anger.

"I'm scared stiff, still Pony. What if they kill one of us one day, just because they think they can get away with it?" I thought about that too.

"Well they won't and they can't."

"We'll see, Pony. Things are tense." I knew what he meant. Curly and I had gotten beaten within weeks of each other and it seemed that it was time for the Soc's to have another beating in the works. It was all so timely. I thought it was about time I told somebody what was going on. We went to the vacant lot and sat beneath the tree.

"I started carrying a blade, Johnny," I started. I continued my story up until last night. The entire time, his eyes grew wider and his mouth fell open bigger, and he was shocked and disgusted with me by the time I was finished.

"Are you fucking out of your mind Ponyboy Curtis?" he demanded angrily, the first time I've ever seen him angry in my entire life. I stopped short because I was so surprised at his anger. Out of everybody, I expected him to be more understanding.

"Sheppard's a lunatic, Ponyboy! You could have been killed!" he snapped at me. My mouth formed an O. This was so out of character for Johnny. I lowered my eyes and sighed. He was right to be P.O'd. I would have been too.

"Pool sticks and heaters? Christ Pony…," Johnny's voice died off. I didn't mention Dally. I wasn't getting him into this.

"What's going on with you, man?" he asked. I wished I knew. I had no answer for him and he knew it. I asked him to promise not to tell Soda or Darry or anybody else about this.

"I don't know what to say to you Pony. For the first time in my life, I have no idea what to say," Johnny said. I just shook my head.

"Everything's fine. I'm not dealing with the Shepherd's anymore okay? I'll stop carrying the blade. Everything's fine," I assured him. We got up and started walking back to the house. I was starting to feel nauseous again. All I could see in my head was that knife sticking out of that guy's leg.

* * *

Sodapop and I walked together over to the convenience store to pick up Pepsi and cigarettes. The rest of the crew were back at the house. He was silent for most of the walk. We went inside the store, got our stuff, and left. Then he started speaking.

"Pony, I know you've been feeling angry recently," he said slowly.

"I know how much you hate the way things are. I do too. But it's something we have to live with, get it? Life's handed us this set of cards and we have no choice but to survive and get past the obstacles that lay in front of us," he said, speaking in a soft voice.

"I've been watching the way you've been for the past month and you're turning into someone who's bitter and angry all the time. It's just not like you Pony. And the disappearing acts. I don't like seeing my kid brother this resentful. And I don't like NOT seeing my kid brother either." I listened to him, knowing he was unloading a lot off his chest.

"You and Darry don't always see eye to eye, and I know that. But we're all that we have. He works all day and night so that we can have a chance at life. I dropped out because school isn't my thing. But it's your thing and being a good kid is your thing too. I just don't want to see you go down the wrong path because you're so pissed off at how things are," Soda said, turning to look at me.

"Can you promise me something, Pony?"

"What is it?"

"Promise me you'll always tell the truth. No lies about anything."

"I promise."

* * *

Two weeks followed when my brother eventually found out where I was that Saturday night. Soda ran into one of Tim's crew and he spilled the beans. When I came home that day, Soda pulled my aside. I had no idea what he wanted. He looked me over carefully, not saying a word.

"What Soda?" I asked, nervously.

"Never, ever go near Sheppard again Ponyboy Curtis," he said quietly. Too quietly. I looked into his eyes and they were blazing with rage. I gulped.

"Don't tell Darry," I begged him. Soda breathed out. His hands were clenched.

"Were there heaters there, Ponyboy?" he asked. I sighed.

"Yeah, but nobody used them," I said. Soda stared my straight in the face, turned and went into the bedroom and closed the door.

I didn't see him for the rest of the night.


	8. Chapter 8

Was I lucky that Soda didn't say anything to Darry? Maybe. If Soda knew I was carrying a blade on me, he might have told Darry but for whatever reason he had, he didn't say a word. I thanked him for it but he only looked at me with a tired look in his eyes. What else could he do really? If he told Darry, it would only put a strain the household and Soda knew what he was like. Darry would ground me and discipline me and the whole shebang, and it wouldn't really solve the issue. The issue was that I was a paranoid, traumatized, fourteen year old kid who was trying to fit into shoes way too big for him and was doing stupid things for it. What I needed to do see was see a shrink.

Like that was going to happen.

I began to write in my journal again, something else I had been neglecting. I wrote about everything that had happened to me and I was trying to figure myself out. What exactly was my problem? Depression, anger, lack of self identity? Did I think too much? Was I self destructive? What kind of stupidity did I need to endure to kick myself into gear?

* * *

"Johnnycake, do you think I think too much?" I asked him. He swallowed a piece of chocolate cake and nodded, his heavy bangs greased against his forehead.

"Yeah, you do Pony. Sometimes I wonder if you didn't think so much how much happier you'd be," he said. He hit something there.

"Same for you Johnnycakes. Same for you."

* * *

Dally swung by our place and he had a few choice words for me. I listened to him berate me, understanding I totally deserved it.

"Sheppard's over it but you should probably think twice before heading over to that area again. The Jamesons are wondering who the kid was that jumped in and broke one of their members' ribs," he said, a slight smile on his face. That made me feel quite bad. It was kind of tuff I did that, but I also felt guilty.

"Hand me that blade that you're carrying around with you, Pony," he said. I reached into my pocket and gave it to him. He looked it over, flipping the blade in and out, and he handed it back to me with raised eyebrows.

"Not bad kid. I don't want to encourage you or nothing but you weren't half bad at the rumble," he said. A compliment from Dally Winston?

"Really?"

"Yeah. If you weren't so stupid with your interference, Sheppard would have appreciated it too," Dally said back handedly.

"You're one of a kind, kid. Brave, but really lacking in common sense." I disliked him all over again. But I was curious too.

"How was New York for you, Dally?"

"The roughest, toughest place you'd ever been too, kid. Lots of characters there. Need to be smart not to get killed. Run with the wrong crowd and that's where you'd end up."

"How'd Shepherd's lot do in New York, if they ever went?"

"They'd get slaughtered. Don't say nothin' to Tim though."

* * *

I decided to do some soul searching. But first I needed to do something.

I ran into one of the guys who jumped me in the parking lot at school. I was feeling confident. He saw me approach and I saw him roll his eyes and he sneered.

"What do you want, grease? More beatings?" I went right up to him and spat on him. He reeled back and glared at me. I reached into my pocket and whipped out my blade and flicked it up. He froze, staring at me in shock. Other kids were staring at us.

"Jump me or any of my friends again and I'll slice you to ribbons, Soc," I said evenly. He laughed nervously. He glanced about him, seeing if one of his friends was around. Nobody showed themselves.

"No you wouldn't." I reached over and flicked off one of the buttons of his madras shirt.

"Yeah, I really fucking will. I've just about had enough of this from you low life, bloodsuckers. The east side is our turf. You. Don't. Belong. There. Asshole," I said. I waved the knife at him and he backed away.

"Ponyboy, hey Pony. Ease up," I heard a voice say. I didn't need to turn my head to know it was Two-Bit.

"Go fuck yourself, grease," the Soc said sounding tougher than he looked.

"That's a real smart thing to someone who has a knife near your balls," I responded.

"Ponyboy, come on now." I spat at his feet and turned and walked away, Two-Bit trailing. There was grumbling now among the kids who witnessed the situation. I went into Two-Bit's car and we were soon speeding towards my house.

"I don't know what to say Ponyboy…," Two-Bit started but I interrupted him.

"Then don't say anything, Two-Bit. I did what I had to do to get them to leave us alone. If they're smart, they will."

* * *

The next day, I was walking home, by myself. I didn't miss the red Corvette that was following me and I had my hand on my blade. It finally pulled up beside me and in the driver's seat was a gorgeous redhead. I was instantly nervous. I had seen her around at school, she was a cheerleader I think, and she was the girlfriend of one of the guys who jumped Johnny and I.

"Hey there, do you mind if we talk for a little bit?" she asked. I stopped and faced her. She got out of her car and walked toward me. She was a really classy looking girl.

"You're Ponybody, right?"

"Who wants to know?" She sighed. She ran a hand through her thick hair and tilted her head at me.

"My boyfriend and his friends heard about the incident in the parking lot. I think they're going to come after you," she said. I blinked. No shit. Of course they would be coming after me.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. She had nice, clear green eyes.

"I don't want a kid getting hurt over something they started. It isn't right and it isn't fair,"she said. I was suspicious of her.

"You're being a little disloyal by telling me this, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but it's the right thing to do. I'm trying to reason with them but I think you need to be careful, Ponyboy."

"What's your name?"

"Sherri Valance but people call me Cherry. For obvious reasons." Gosh, she was beautiful.

"Well, Cherry. Thanks, I guess."

"Be careful, Ponyboy."

Great.

* * *

"What are you doing, Pony?" Soda asked me as I was writing furiously at the desk.

"Writing a letter," I said. Soda sat down on the bed.

"To who?"

"The newspaper."

I am only fourteen years old and I live on the East Side but I have a few things that I'd like to share with those around me. Tulsa is separated by two groups, the Socials and the Greasers. If you're unfamiliar with the two groups, simply look around you and you'll be able to differentiate between the two. There is a great deal of animosity between the two groups, and that is something I wish would stop. There is a lack of understanding, commonality, and compassion from the Socials that culminates in a lot of violence over on the East side. I have witnessed this from a very young age and it is painful to watch and experience. I, myself, have been a victim of this violence, which is over nothing, and I'm making a plea to both groups to stop the hate. The Greasers are not the menaces to society that everybody thinks and the Socials are not the assets to society that everybody wants to believe. Each group has its merits and its drawbacks. A little understanding on both sides would help.

Ponyboy Curtis

"What'd you think, Soda?" He was still reading it and I couldn't gauge his expression. He looked up, and frankly seemed spooked.

"Look Pony, I know what happened in the parking lot. I don't know what's gotten into you recently but maybe…maybe you need to see someone." I bit my lip at that. It was probably true.

"I'm worried about you, kid brother. I don't know if I know you anymore." That frightened me more than anything he's ever said before.

* * *

That encounter with Cherry Valance left me thinking quite a bit. Sure I was scared that they were coming after me but I was thinking about her and the fact that she was one of the Soc's and she wanted to help me out. It was awfully weird of her but also really, fucking nice.

Were there actually Soc's out there who had sympathy for us?

Was I really a violence lover or a hater?

Did the fact that they were coming after me scare me enough to write that stupid letter to the newspaper?

My life was going to come apart at the seams again and I had to be ready for it. I don't quite know how to prepare for the fact that a group of lunatics wants to kill me. I was debating as to whether or not I should tell the gang.

Was I trying to battle these guys or was I trying to battle an entire fucking system that seemed to hate us.

Would we ever win?


	9. Chapter 9

School was going to end in two weeks and I was veering between being scared stiff and feeling confident that I could handle whatever it was that was going to happen to me.

I went to see Cool Hand Luke at the movie theatre.

I loved Paul Newman and would have loved to look like him. He was cool looking.

It was a real badass movie and I was going to will myself to have the same confidence and bad-assiness that he had in the movie. As I stepped outside from the darkness of the movie theatre and onto the street, I had a couple of things on my mind. How cool Paul Newman was, and how I was going to stay alive for the next while.

My letter had gotten published in the newspaper and it as sort of a big deal at school. Lots of people had written in commending me for being so young and being so astute. My teachers were congratulating me for it even. It had received a lot of criticism too. I didn't care either way. I just knew that things were the way they were and there was nothing I could do to change that.

The Beatles were right. All we need is love.

I noticed the Mustang following me as soon as I left the theatre and wondered how they found me so fast. I was alone and began to walk quickly. I heard the door slam and began to run. They caught up to me quickly and began circling me. I recognized the same guys who had jumped me and Johnny.

"Hey there grease, need a haircut," one of them said.

"No," I responded and backed up. They had me on the ground in a second. I heard one of them flick out a blade.

"He's got one too. Get it out," one of them ordered and they had my blade out in a second. I fought against them and they pressed the knife against my throat.

"Gonna give you that haircut grease." I cursed at them. I recognized the one I pulled the blade on, and this time, he had my knife in his hand. He reached back and then with one thrust, plunged it into my side. I screamed. The pain traveled upwards and I couldn't stop screaming. He plunged into me again.

"Paul, what the fuck are you doing man?" one of them asked panic stricken. I couldn't breathe. The white fire was making its way through my entire body and it felt like I was burning. I was going to die.

"This kid is a worthless piece of shit who deserves to die," Paul said. Soon, I felt nothing. Black was closing in on me, slashed through with white flashes, and soon saw a golden arch. My vision was hazy and blurred. I knew I was dying.

I loved my brothers. I idolized Sodapop and even though I butt heads with my brother Darry, I loved him too. I loved the gang. They were my family as well. Steve Randle, Two-Bit Matthews, Dallas Winston, and especially Johnny Cade. I wanted to say goodbye to them. Violence would never be the answer to any problems and it's best to try to solve things by communication. You could never settle scores with violence. You could never beat the system. You are who you are and in the context of the world, try to build an identity that's true to you and true to those around you. Make the world less toxic.

This all came to me as I lay dying. Perhaps I was redeemed at last.

And all turned black.

I died.

Or so I thought.

* * *

I woke up and it was quiet. There was a dim light ahead of me and when I turned my head, I saw a machine with red lines going across a screen. There was something stuck under my nose and it didn't move when I turned my head again. I saw Darry sitting in a chair next to me, his eyes closed. I coughed a little and that hurt. Darry didn't wake up.

"Darry," I said, my voice raspy. He blinked and sat up, groggy. He saw me and shot forward.

"Ponyboy! Pony! You're awake!" He looked more relieved than I'd ever seen before.

"Yeah, I am." Darry reached out and stroked my hair. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was worn out and lined with stress.

"You look awful, man," I said. He continued to stroke my hair and his throat worked up and down.

"We almost lost you, Ponyboy," he whispered. I looked at him, bewildered. I realized then I was in a hospital.

"Where's Soda?" I asked. Darry sighed.

"He's at work." Work? Really?

"He was here yesterday. We've been takin' turns staying with you since we found out you were going to be alright. Thank God," Darry said, focusing his ice blue eyes on me.

"I'm alright, Darry. Make sure you tell Soda that I'm gonna be okay," I told him. I didn't want Soda to worry. Or Darry, for that matter.

"What happened?"

"You got knifed. We don't know by who since you were unconscious. The police wanted to talk to you once you woke up but I'm going to keep them as far away from you as possible until you're ready," Darry explained.

"Thanks Darry."

* * *

I ended up not telling the cops anything. Maybe I was making a big mistake but I didn't tell them who it was.

I just said it was a bunch of random guys wearing Madras and gave no other details.

I knew what would happen if I did. I was stupid enough to bring it upon myself by waving that blade around anyway. The law would be easy on them. Darry and Soda would go after the Soc's and they would lose. Even though we were the victims here, we would lose.

Don't try to understand my mentality.

I reckoned few would be able to.

It's a good thing I'm as good at lying as I am because the gang would rip me to shreds if they knew I was sparing those guys jail terms.

* * *

I stayed at home and recovered. School was out and that was a massive relief. I thought about what happened to me every day. I wrote about it in my journal and while it all made sense, I began to realize the stupidity of my actions. What if they hadn't gotten me and they had gone after someone I loved? What if I had lost a member of my family or the gang? I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. I have a hard enough time living with myself as it is. One day, we got a surprise visitor.

Like I said before, the door is never closed, so what a surprise it was when Tim Sheppard came walking through. I was laid out on the couch watching tv too loudly and I heard a bang. Tim, black hair swirled around his head came over and stood over me, grinning.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he said, shaking his head. I sat up, groaning as I did, and looked up at him.

"How ya doin' Tim?" I asked.

"The question is, how are YOU doin'. I knew it was a bad idea that you were carrying around that blade but I didn't realize how bad of an idea it would be. Shoot kid, you would have been a casualty," he said. I didn't bother correcting his English. You don't give language lessons to a hood.

"I'm alright Tim. Want some chocolate milk?" I asked. I was a host after all. He shook his head, and chuckled.

"So who was it?"

"I dunno."

"Too bad. I'm sure your crew would have loved to have stomped all over those idiots." Typical Tim. Not his crew, not his business.

"Thinkin' about coming around any time soon, kid? A couple of guys miss you," he said off handedly.

"No. No offense." I had had enough of his gang. And the shit that they got into. After being a stabbing victim, I wasn't about to endure anymore violence. Especially willingly. Besides, I had nothing to offer. I was pretty much useless in that world.

"None taken." He got ready to leave.

"You take it easy kid. I would give that blade to Dally if I was y'all." I understood. I didn't want Dally getting knifed though either, and I'm sure he already had a nice collection from Two-Bit. He was getting nothing of that sort from me.

"Thanks for dropping by Tim. You gotta be careful next time you swing by though. If Soda knew--," I said but he interrupted me.

"I got it. Take it easy."

I got another surprise visitor a couple of days later. This time I nearly wet myself.

It was Cherry Valance.


	10. Chapter 10

This time Soda and Darry were home and Steve and Johnny were over. Steve and Johnny about fell over when they saw who it was. She looked real beautiful and real out of place. Our house was mess but I didn't care, I was so surprised.

Then I became angry.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. She was one of Them and despite the warning she had given me, I had gotten knifed. I didn't want anything to do with any of them. She took a deep breath.

"Can we talk alone, Ponyboy?" she asked, looking me straight in the eyes. The others stared first at her, than at me, wondering what the heck was going on. I paused for a few seconds, then got up reluctantly. I was still in pain. I nodded outside and we went and I closed the door after us. Her red Corvette sat in the driveway, again looking very out of place. I sat down on the front steps and she sat down next to me. She turned to me, looking very sad and sorry.

"I'm so sorry Ponyboy. I did everything I could to get them to stop. They were wondering why I was sticking up for you and it just got worse. I really did try to stop it," she said softly. I glared at her.

"Is that what you're here for. To apologize for that? That ain't goin' to cut it," I snarled. She was basically representing them and I was starting to hate her for it.

"I know you're angry and you have every reason to be. Look, I know you didn't turn them in because they would have gone to jail already. I'm telling you that you should tell the police exactly what happened," Cherry said, running a hand through her red hair.

"And what exactly would that do?" I asked her, bewildered. She stared at me with her pretty green eyes.

"So they can get exactly what they deserve. They had no business jumping and stabbing a freshman over something so stupid. You could have been killed. Not all of us, even if we run in the same social circles, are the same Ponyboy," she said, starting to sound a little angry.

"As if it'll ever stop them from jumping another Grease. Do you realize how good you guys have it? Don't you know that nothing's ever goin' to change because the world loves you and hates us?" I said, pissed off. She sighed.

"I know all of that Ponyboy. And to be honest, I wish things could be different. I didn't come here to fight. I wanted to say sorry and to let you know that you need to let the police know what happened. I'm…I'm going to go to them and tell them what happened, whether you do or don't," she said quickly. I stared at her, shocked.

"Why?"

"Maybe you don't think that it'll make a difference but I KNOW it will. It'll ostracize me, and I don't really care that it will, but I have a conscience. Call me selfish but I'm trying to help you out as much as I'm trying to help my conscience out too," Cherry said. She was self centered but she was willing to stick her neck out to help me, us, out? I could only imagine the fall-out.

"They're scared stiff, Ponyboy. They're waiting any minute now for the cops to knock on their door and drag their asses to prison," she said.

"Do you know who Paul is, Cherry?" I asked. She froze.

"I'm just askin'"

"I do, yes," she said, slowly. I left it at that.

"Don't say a word. I just want to forget it ever happened. I don't want to be dragged into the courts and the law and the politics of it all. I have my family to think about and I don't want Soda and me being put into homes because of this," I said, feeling anxious.

"But it's their fault, Ponyboy!" She seemed shocked.

"It's also mine. I pulled a blade on them. That's why it happened. And there are witnesses. I just want this to all go away. Leave it be. Please." I wanted her to go away too. We sat in silence for a long while. Finally, Sodapop poked his head out, knocking softly on the door to let us know he was there.

"Are you alright Pony?" he asked. I turned to look up at him. He looked concerned and I realized I hadn't seen his wild and reckless grin in a while. That it would disappear forever is what spooked me if he discovered I knew who the perpetrators were and everything that would happen to us if Cherry said anything. I prayed inwardly that she would listen to me. She stood up.

"It was nice talking to you Ponyboy. I'll see you around,"she said quietly, got into her car, and drove off. I sat and watched her drive off.

Soda came and sat next to me. He didn't say anything. He put his arm around me and we sat like that for a long time. It occurred to me then that since Soda knew about the parking lot incident, he could put two and two together. I loved him so much more then for not pushing me. I guess I was more fragile than I ever realized before.

* * *

Again, I my physical wounds healed and my need for violence died, but what increased was my need for peace.

I had put myself through the wringer in the last few months and gone through several transformations.

I wasn't the naïve kid I once was.

I hadn't achieved any of my initial goals but received other benefits as sort of extensions of what I had originally intended to do.

I went into Sheppard's territory looking for a reputation and came out realizing I wasn't who I strove to be. I went into to learn to defend myself and came out realizing I didn't have the stomach for violence. I went into that parking lot waving my knife around and came out realizing I didn't like violence at all.

I nearly died.

I was a scared kid going through an identity crisis in what was one of the most terrifying periods of my life I experienced. I didn't want revenge against them because I was scared. My fear removed any semblance there was to vindictiveness I had. I was so lost in this world I didn't know what to do.

I used to go to church and wondered if that was what I should do. I started praying to God again. But I was just going through the motions. I believed in God but He wasn't going to turn things around for us. Socs versus Greasers. Socs win.

Apathy was setting in.

* * *

I went to bed and stayed there. I had no interest in doing anything or seeing anybody. Soda and Darry checked up on me once in a while but pretty much left me alone because I had turned into such a deadened soul. The gang came by and did the same.

I tried to ignore the knowing looks Two-Bit directed at me. I didn't forget he'd been there in the parking lot either. But he was smart enough not to make assumptions. They all left me alone except for Johnny. He stayed in the room with me, watching me. Day in and day out. And talking to me, though I wasn't saying much to him.

"…and Dally got a coke thrown on him by one of the Socy girls he was tryin' to pick up. He got right back into it though, chattin' them up nice and friendly until they couldn't say no anymore and they finally let him sit with them," he said, with a grin on his face. Dally was his idol and could do no wrong in his eyes. I nodded and stared at the piece of wall above Johnny's head. Johnny finally had enough.

"Enough of this bullshit Ponyboy! I'm getting sick and tired of watchin' you turn into a zombie. You had something awful happen to you but you can't it eat away at you like this. It's makin' everyone crazy wondering what's going on inside your head, man. You need to cut this out," he snapped, sitting up. I stared at him.

"It ain't easy--," I began but he cut me off.

"Yeah, it can be. You can talk about it for one thing. You're just sitting there, staring at the ceiling all day and all night and nobody can get through to you. You're my best pal, Pony, and I know you. I ain't about to let you…let you…," he was so furious he didn't know what to say. I started to say something facetious then I let it go. He was my best friend. And he was trying to help. If the situation were reversed, I would do the same.

"I'm sorry Johnnycake. I'll try my best."


	11. Chapter 11

Paul. The name haunted me. It would just appear in my thoughts and I would have to bat it away. That was getting harder and harder to do.

* * *

"Soda and I were talkin' and we decided it's time for you to see a doctor, Ponyboy," Darry said as we had dinner one evening. I sighed. I saw it coming.

"I don't need to see a doctor. I'm just—recovering," I said.

"Come on Pony, it's for your own good," pleaded Soda. I didn't look at him. I looked at Darry instead.

"How come you're making me see one now? I went to pieces when mom and dad died and you didn't force me to see one then," I said reasonably. Darry just shook his head.

"It's different this time Pony. You're very depressed, even more so now than before, and probably still traumatized by what happened. We have to do something about this before it gets worse," he said reaching for the chicken. I passed it to him and took a deep breath.

"It ain't gonna do nothin' Darry. Maybe I'm a little depressed but that's normal. Let me handle this on my own. Please," I said, sounding a little desperate. Darry was wrestling with himself. He hated doctors as much as we all did. Well, he hated them. They plain scared me.

"I promise I'll get better. Ask Soda. He knows," I said turning to Sodapop. He looked drained. Maybe I was being selfish but going to the doctors was going to open a giant can of worms I wouldn't be able to handle. None of us would be able to handle. We all sat chewing our food, the tension so thick you could slice it with a knife.

"Remember that article I wrote that got published?" Darry looked at me, proudly. Soda gave me a sad look.

"People are still talkin' about it, right? Maybe"—I had had to be careful here because I was afraid of revealing too much,"we should get our groups together and have a war council, you know? That's what's bugging me so much. I just hate that Socs and Greasers can't get along."

"War council! I haven't heard that term since New York," a voice suddenly said from the front door. It was Dally. Good ol' Dally. I looked to him for help.

"Maybe, maybe if we get our lot together with Tim's and have a meeting with the Socials we can come up with something, don't you think Dally?" I said passionately. It was the best idea I've had in ages. Dally lit up a cigarette.

"Here, pass me one of those," Soda said. He must really be worn out, to be smoking.

"Keep them off our turf," Dally murmured. He took a drag.

"It could work." But Darry was adamant.

"The issue is Ponyboy. Not this war between the Socs and the Greasers. Ponyboy, you are going to see a fucking doctor whether you like it or not," he said, clearly pissed off.

"No I ain't. The issue is the Socs, Darry. They're the ones who tried to kill me. If there's some way to establish some kind of peace…," I said, drifting off. Dally squinted at us through the smoke.

"War councils did work in New York, you know," he said. He hated doctors, cops, any part of the establishment, he hated. He had my back. I was liking him more and more. Sodapop smoked and looked stressed. He hated conflict of any kind and I can see this was wearing him down more. I felt terrible.

"Tell you what. We do this War Council first. If it don't work, then I go see a shrink, k?" I said, practically begging. Darry looked at me.

"Ponyboy, if you happen to come across the person who knifed you, would you be able to recognize him?"

"I…I dunno, Darry."

* * *

In the end, after hours of begging, and the arrival of Two-Bit, Steve, and Johnny, Darry and Soda agreed to try to negotiate a war council with some of the leaders of the Socs. I was to have no part in it, everybody decided. I wasn't happy about that but with six pairs of eyes glaring at you, what could you do?

* * *

Cherry Valance showed up at our door. When she did, my heart started beating. If she went to the fuzz…We were all home and the whole gang was there. I watched Dally cautiously. He was a shameless womanizer and Socs were no limitation to him. Cherry seemed cool enough.

"Saturday night. At the park. They want a rumble, not a meeting. Loser stays off each other's turf. Non-negotiable," she said, matter-of-fact. She wore a red jacket and tightened the cord around her neck.

"Fair deal," Two-Bit said. There were murmurs all around.

"Game on," Dally said softly to his cigarette. Cherry left, and didn't say a word to me.

* * *

Tim Sheppard agreed to this arrangement. He was bringing his whole crew with him, minus weapons. It was going to be skin on skin.

I wanted in, to back up my gang not for the love of fighting, but of course, nobody would let me. I was considered to be 'still healing' and to be honest, I didn't relish the thought of ripping open my scar.

They made it clear to me they knew I wasn't wimping out. I gotten through Tim Sheppard's rumble and gotten through a nearly fatal stabbing. I was tuff. I had nothing to prove to anyone. Those were the ranks in Greaser terms. You, unfortunately, earned your cred through violence. Or rather, hood terms.

Soda wasn't thrilled about the Sheppard's doing this, as he had never forgiven Tim for my participation in the rumble, but he let it go for the sake of co-operation. He was as sick of the violence as I was. But the gang wasn't. They were fit and ready to do some Socy ass-kicking. These were the times and these were the terms. There would be no peace unless blood was shed.

My message, for the most part, had been futile.

* * *

The day of the rumble was a big day for all of us. With the music blasting, everybody got ready to fight. I was going to go along with them, but just to watch for the fuzz. And this time, I would do that. Watch, I mean.

"You're going to be real careful Ponyboy Curtis," Darry said. He looked tough and muscular in a tight black teeshirt. He wasn't using hair oil like anybody else. Neither was Soda, who generally didn't need as much as anybody else. Steve, however, was loading it on, combing swirls on his head. Darry ran a hand through his hair and looked worried.

"Soda, if the fuzz show, you and Pony run," he said. Soda, showing more of his self than he had in recent months, gave him a huge reckless grin.

"They ain't gonna show, Darry. We're gonna show them Socies exactly what we're all about tonight, ain't we Steve?" He and Steve locked hands, flexing their biceps.

Sodapop got off on deals like this. He had so much excess energy to burn, it was no wonder he was so amped up. Two-Bit and Dally smoked on the couch, watching everybody with amusement. Johnny hung around the corner, looking thoughtful. Usually Johnny and I ganged up on somebody because we were the smallest ones, but this time he was on his own.

"Hey, you and Curly can help each other out," I suggested. Dally shot me a look.

"You sayin' Johnny can't handle himself, Ponyboy?" he asked. I shook my head. Never mind that. When everybody was ready, we all stood around, looking at each other. Two-Bit wore a Mickey Mouse teeshirt, a contrast to his husky frame and tough sideburns and long hair. Dally wore a jean jacket and cowboy boots, and looked dangerous. Johnny looked like he was thinking pessimistic thoughts. Steve and Soda stood together, best friends united. One looking cocky, the other radiating like a movie star. Darry stepped forward, the unofficial leader of our unit.

"I guess we're good to go."

* * *

Tim's crew was there, smoking, and hanging around, and chatting. We showed and they all grouped together to meet us. Tim came forward. Soda was standing next to me and something was exchanged between the two, but I didn't know what. We all started shaking hands. They all recognized me but didn't say a word. Something told me Tim had something to do with that. Curly greeted me loudly and enthusiastically. He pretended to punch my side and I jerked back, wincing. He slapped me on the shoulder.

"Just playing with ya," he said, turning to light a cigarette. Darry and Tim got together and were talking, the two leaders. Soda came over.

"When they come, you move over to that side area over there Pony. If they come near you, holler, and we'll get them away from you. Understood?" he said seriously. I nodded.

Twenty minutes later, the Socs in the Mustangs and Corvairs and Madras showed. They piled out of their cars, dressed nearly identical. There were about the same number of Socs as there was us Greasers. Johnny and I stood together and we both recognized a few of them. I shivered. There was no Paul.

That didn't surprise me.

We watched as they organized themselves. They stood in a line. Darry stepped to the front. A tall, blonde came forward and stared at Darry.

"You know the deal," Darry said.

"We win. You stay out of the East Side," he said, speaking for all of us. The blond looked smug.

"We always keep our side of the bargain," he said. Darry nodded. At that, I began to move to the side. One of the Socs threw a punch.

The war began.


	12. Chapter 12

Skin on skin. I just had to remember that. Nobody was going to get killed. The police weren't going to show to whisk Soda and I away from our home. It was just a rumble. I stayed to the side, as far away from the action as I could get without getting hurt, but close enough to see what was happening.

I mostly watched our gang and they were right in the thick of it and Soda, in particular, had a lot of steam to blow off and he was taking on two guys at once, with little trouble. He punched one than the other in quick succession and when they came after him, he threw a drop kick that knocked them into each other. I breathed a sigh of relief. I never had to worry about Soda in a fight. He was taking lumps but he could really whip somebody if he was angry enough and sure enough, he was angry.

Johnny had taken my advice and he and Curly Sheppard were battling it out with one muscular looking Soc.

Darry was having no trouble at all. I watched him duck a blow, then twist up, grab a guy by the throat and launched him three feet to the ground.

Two-Bit was kicking the shit out of a guy on the ground, Mickey's head moving up and down with each vicious kick.

Steve was in trouble though. He had two guys on him, and they were beating him badly. Dally noticed and weaved his way over to grab one of them and deliver a menacing blow to the head. Everybody had each other's back.

The Shepard crew weren't doing badly either.

I could hear snarls, heavy breathing, skin hitting skin, crunches, cursing while I watched, nervous and munching on my nails. A part of me wanted to get in there but mostly I just wanted to yank out my gang and my brothers and make sure they were okay.

It ain't easy watching your family get pounded on and not being able to do nothing about it. Blood fell from their faces and they spat out teeth and went after each other like animals in a cage.

It wasn't about peace for many of them. It about territory and pride and the act of fighting the enemy. They were a bunch of guys who liked to fight—and in our case, it was a vendetta, for me and Curly Shepard.

My brothers weren't about to forget who were responsible for my near death and Tim wasn't going to forget who had jumped Curly before.

For the Shepard crew, it was another excuse to get back at the Socs for everything they had that Greasers didn't and to get back at them in a way that made sense, through fighting and whipping their asses.

Our gang was loyal and would follow us to the death. I was proud of all of them. And I was nervous as hell too. It was bringing back memories of the Shepard-Jameson rumble and of my stabbing too and I was feeling a bit nauseous.

I was literally jamming as much brutality into my life as possible in a relatively short time and I think it was going to have more ramifications. They still went at each other, tearing, ripping, punching, spitting, beating, kicking, knocking, throwing, and it was nearly as vicious as the one I'd been to before. Just because there were no heaters and knives didn't mean that it wasn't rough as hell.

It turned out, I was wrong about the knife.

And one was being held against the throat of my brother Sodapop.

"Hold up, hold up!" Darry shouted. Everybody stopped. One of the Socs had locked onto Sodapop and was pressing a silver blade against his neck. I panicked. I ran forward.

"Put that down, man," I said, maybe screaming. The Soc just looked at me. Everybody had stopped fighting and they were watching him. Soda didn't look scared. He looked mad as hell. Darry held up his hands.

"Look, let him go. We'll let this go," he said. I wanted to cry. Not Sodapop.

"We win," the Soc said. He dropped his hand. Soda took one step forward, whirled around, and punched him so hard in the face that the Soc went flying. Soda kicked the blade away and went after the Soc with everything he had.

Everybody stood around and watched.

The Soc came up, wincing, and wiping his bleeding nose, then launched himself at Soda. They rolled around on the ground, throwing punches whenever they could. I took a step forward but Darry stopped me.

"Don't," he murmured. Soon, Soda was standing and he held the guy down, and he paused his fist six inches from the Soc's face. He looked very tough and very scary.

"Do that ever again to anybody here, I'll come after you and I'll shred you to pieces. I know your face and I'll find out where you live and kill you if you ever pull a knife on anybody ever again," he said softly.

Everybody was silent.

The Soc on the ground looked like he was going to shit himself. Soda jerked him loose. He looked around.

"This is our Turf. This is our family. We all stand up for each other. If you Socs come near us ever again and especially near any of my brothers, we will hunt you down and you will not see the light of day," he said in a tone that gave me chills. I closed my eyes and felt like I was going to faint.

"YEAH!" someone suddenly shouted, piercing the night. I jerked up and looked. The Socs were going to their cars.

"Look at the fuckers go. Yeah!" There were cheers all around. People were moving around. I looked at the gang. Soda was bent over a moaning Steve. Dally and Johnny stood together, arms around each others shoulders. Two-Bit was hi-fiving with a bunch of Shepard's crew. Darry came right toward me, blood streaming from a wound on his forehead and the beginnings of a black eye.

"You okay Ponyboy?!" he demanded.

"Yeah, Darry." I said. I had a headache and wanted to throw up.

"I'm just fine." And I felt myself sway and fall to the ground.

* * *

I felt somebody stroking my hair and slowly opened my eyes. It was Sodapop. Somehow, we had all made it back to the house. I looked at Sodapop and suddenly remembered the blade being held against his throat.

"Soda!" I sat up and regretted it. He gently pushed me back down. His eyes were dark; there was no sign of happy go lucky Soda in them. He was cut up and everything like the rest of them, but he was alive.

"I'm fine Ponyboy. Everything's fine now," he said softly. The rest of the gang were hanging around, smoking, eating chocolate cake, and generally not saying anything. Fuck this shit I said internally and began to bawl, not caring at all who was watching me.

I had nearly lost Sodapop tonight. That changed a lot of things. I had a decision I needed to make.

"Darry, Soda, I got something to tell you about the night I was stabbed…"

They listened to me without saying a word. Them and the whole gang. When I was finished, they just sort of stared at me, then each other. It didn't seem like anybody knew what to say. They'd had their fight. They'd gotten their vindication for being a Greaser—and for me. I had a choice. Go to the cops and risk being put in a group home or don't go and let Paul get away with knifing me. It was a tough choice to make. Then I thought about Soda, and what would have happened if I lost him. Then the choice wasn't so hard to make.

* * *

"Are you ready Ponyboy?" asked Darry, as we pulled up to the police station. He and Soda both took the day off work to be there with me.

"Yeah, I think I am Darry," I answered. Soda rubbed me on the shoulder.

"Whatever happens, Pony, we're right here," he said, reassuringly. I nodded. Whatever happened would happen but I had a feeling things were going to be alright.

As long as we were together.


	13. Chapter 13

Epilogue

I was right.

With Cherry's help, they charged Paul with attempted murder. The court proceedings took months. But when it all ended, they looked at my grades and lack of police record and my general good behaviour and determined I would be okay to go home with my brothers. Paul was sent to the Reformatory because he wasn't yet 18.

Justice had been served.

I wish I could say that things changed between the Greasers and the Socs but things never really did. It was quiet for a while on our turf because of the rumble but things started up all over again.

Young kids were being brought up with the mentality of us versus them and it was a whole new generation of fighters and hoods and Socs.

I did my best.

The only I could do was watch and write and make sure I didn't get into trouble. I took the straight path. And to be honest, I felt pretty damned good about it. There was only so much I could do, after all. But in the end, I felt like a winner. I had lived to tell my story and even if was just a little, I lived to see the changes that the world around me was taking because of what I did. I had been through a lot and I was wondering exactly what effect such a violent and traumatizing effect it would have on me in the long run. So I did something that was as natural to me as breathing. Something that would help me heal.

Darry, Soda, and I sat around the dinner table. It was just us, no gang. We were eating chocolate cake and talking. I swallowed a mouthful of chocolate cake.

"I wrote a story," I announced. They both turned to me. This was nothing new to them.

"I mean, it's a real important story. I…I actually want you both to read it," I said. I felt a little shy. They didn't get to read to many of my things but it WAS something that I was actually going to share this with them.

"Okay, Ponyboy," Sodapop said. I got up and went to get my notebook. I looked inside. It started with…

I slowly drew in my breath, then pulled out a wreath of smoke…

The End


End file.
